Old Friends
by Meer-Katnip
Summary: "You've gotten younger!" she declared, pulling back and viewing him fully. "And you haven't aged even a bit!" he returned. "I know that's the type of thing your grandparents usually say, but... it's true."


**_Old Friends_**

* * *

The young woman's name tag proclaimed her to be 'Dorothy'.

She hadn't been Dorothy for a very long time.

She stepped lightly between the tables, taking orders and delivering meals. She picked up two chocolate milkshakes and sashayed over.

It was hard to resist the temptation to dump it over someone's head, just for old time's sake.

She idly glanced over at the clock. _One more hour left. _

One more hour until she could do what she did best.

Until then, though...

"Milkshake, please," a young man in tweed requested.

"Coming right up," she answered. She instinctively liked him, somehow. He had a look in his eyes that reminded her of-

_No. Don't think about that._

She brought over his order as soon as it was done, and made as if to leave.

"No," he said. "Talk a while?"

She placed her hands on her hips, and tilted her head. "Any reason why?"

He waved a hand. "You just seem like an interesting person. And I've met plenty of interesting people. I may add you to my list, if you're interesting enough. You may not be interesting until I have a closer look."

Then he seemed to notice how that sounded, and blushed, straightening his bow tie. "I didn't mean... I'm older than I look, you know," he added hastily.

"Nah," she laughed, twirling a seat outwards and perching on the edge of it. "I get it. Don't worry."

"So, what's a nice girl like you doing in Perivale, then?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"I'm not here all the time," she replied. "I travel a lot. I'm here more because it's my home than anything else."

He took a sip of his milkshake, nodding appreciatively. "So, you don't live with your mother, or anything?"

She shook her head. "No way. My mum's dead. Didn't like her much when she was alive, but..." her voice quietened. "I do miss her."

The man looked like he was about to say something comforting and inspirational, but then said, "Do you happen to have any fish fingers and custard here?"

She almost laughed. It was just like something-

_Stop. No. Don't go there._

"Sorry," she said. "A bit of an odd choice of food. I could get you some toast?"

"Toast?" He made a face that somehow accentuated his boyish features. "Ugh. Don't like toast, to be honest. I _despise _burnt toast, but toast in general is just... ick. It's too _toasty_."

"Fish fingers and custard, though?" She was feeling more at ease with this strange man than she had felt with anyone else for a long time.

"It's _great_," he insisted. "If I had a restaurant, it would be _all _I'd _ever _serve."

She snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

They locked eyes for a moment, and seemed to understand each other in an instant.

"I know you," she said suddenly.

"Do you," he replied noncommittally.

The moment was over. "I thought I did, but... no. Sorry."

He licked the remains of the milkshake off a finger, slurping the dregs delightedly.

"You said you hated burnt toast," she said, a memory niggling at the corner of her mind. "Do you hate anything else?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I hate plenty of things. Yogurt. And beans. Bad, bad beans. Apples are evil. And bacon..." he shuddered. "Don't get me started on bacon."

"All your hates are food-related?"

He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I loathe bus stations. All that lost luggage flying around! It's a wonder people don't end up in the lost and found too! Although, occasionally they do... I once met a man who had lived in a bus station for half his life!"

Her mouth opened, and she began to speak, but he cut over her.

"And there's plenty of other things! Unrequited love. Tyranny." He stared directly at her. "Cruelty."

"Professor!" she shrieked, so loud that half of the people in the cafe turned to stare at her. She ignored them, instead focusing at her long-lost mentor.

"Hello, Ace," he smiled, leaning back in his chair and setting the finished milkshake aside. "Nice to see you again."

She slipped out of her chair, dashed around the table, and hugged him around the middle. Taken by surprise, his arms hung out awkwardly from the sides, before he wrapped them around her and returned the hug with gusto.

"You've gotten younger!" she declared, pulling back and viewing him fully.

"And you haven't aged even a bit!" he returned. "I know that's the type of thing your grandparents usually say, but... it's true. What happened?"

"Cheetah virus," she shrugged, collecting the empty glass, and running to place it on the counter before returning. "My work time's over now. Come on!"

All her energy she usually reserved for adventuring was filling her right now. They walked out of the cafe, chatting like the two old friends they were.

The Doctor told her all about Amelia Pond, the little girl who had grown up so fast, and her husband who was technically older than the Time Lord himself.

"How does it feel," she laughed. "to be the one who isn't the most mature, Professor?"

He mock-pouted at her. "And what have _you _been up to, Ace McShane? You most certainly haven't been staying at home, being a good girl, and working in a cafe."

She shot a look of fake shock at him. "Oh, but I _am _a good girl, Professor. You should see me. I've been saving whole _civilisations _on my days off."

She caught sight of a big blue box on the verge, and ran directly to it, pressing her hands over it, feeling every bump and scratch on it.

"You're repainted it," she exclaimed.

"You noticed?" he asked, unlocking the door.

"Yes! It's not pink!" She bounced inside, and stopped short. "You redecorated."

He waited for the inevitable line.

"I like it," she hugged him again. "Not going for the minimalist look, I see. Hey," she caught sight of something. "Is that a _toaster _on the console?"

"Maybe?" he offered.

"Wicked," she breathed.

"So," he began, whirling around the room. "Ace. Ace, Ace, Ace, Ace. How do you feel about a trip around the five Stellar Galaxies and back in time for dinner? Well," he added. "We might well _have _dinner there, while we're at it, and come back in time for bedtime. Or the bedtime after."

"Will there be running involved?"

"No. Well, when I say no, I probably mean maybe. And when I say maybe, I pretty much mean, definitely." He paused. "Yes. Yes, there will."

She punched the air, feeling like a teenager again. "Ace!"


End file.
